


try to stop the paradise we’re dreaming of

by poisedwalrus



Series: not only plan but also believe [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Don't Ask, Fluff, Gen, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, but you probably will enjoy it more if you have seen hairspray, i apologize to the ninjas you guys are just more fun to write about, it's a post homecoming civil war fix it, kind of, no knowledge of hairspray is needed to read this fic, peter is the new girl in town, plot? I don't know her, thaddeus ross is miss baltimore crabs, what is pacing even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisedwalrus/pseuds/poisedwalrus
Summary: “I could be like Tracy Turnblad,” Peter says thoughtfully, “fromHairspray.”“Hairspray?” Mr. Stark’s face twitches like he’s trying really hard to hold in a sneeze. Or maybe a deluge of sarcastic comments. “I thought you were studying really old—” Mr. Stark makes little air quotes with his index and middle fingers “— sci-fi movies to maintain your precocious teenage-vigilante aesthetic. What, you diversifying into old rom-com musicals now, Pete?”“Hairsprayisn’t that old, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, “I mean, Zefron was in it.”“Zef— You mean Zac Efron? Kid, that’s—,” Mr. Stark shakes his head, lifts his hands as if he can ward off Peter’s words with his palms, stands up, and makes to leave the lounge. “You— Alright, movie night’s over. Get out of my house.”Peter has a twenty-three step plan to reunite the Avengers. This plan is brought to you by the 2007 musical movieHairspray.





	1. every day’s like an open door

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: The first and last fanfic I wrote before this was a Harry Potter culinary school au. This was six years ago. I never completed it.  
> Also, I have not consumed 99% of the cultural content I make reference to in this fic.

After Mr. Stark takes him on a part-unexcused vacation, part-kidnapping venture, part-crime-fighting escapade in Germany, Peter comes back with a seven step plan to make Mr. Stark adopt him as his Avenger mentee. Peter likes to say that this plan was seventy-three percent successful, considering that it concluded with Mr. Stark administering an Avenger-y test of heroic morals, which Peter definitely aced. 

After that, Peter feels that he has a better grasp of how Mr. Stark works, so he upgrades to a twelve step plan to adopt Mr. Stark as his parental figure in the area of super-heroics and science. Aunt May, his parental figure in all other areas, does not approve, but she does acquiesce. Peter likes to attribute this acquiescence to May’s solid trust in his planning skills and definitely not to her resigned acceptance of how Peter will do whatever he wants if he thinks it’ll help someone he likes (or even someone he doesn’t like), regardless of the bounds of common sense, logic, and reality.

But it doesn’t really matter why May agrees, only that she does, so Peter can commence worming his way into Mr. Stark’s life. If Mr. Stark is too emotionally repressed to stealth-adopt Peter after helicopter-mentoring him for months, then, fine, Peter will do it himself. He can pull off sad orphan, cute kid, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and any other look that’ll get Mr. Stark to relent to his attempts at adopting Mr. Stark as one of his people. Peter is at least thirty percent sure that Mr. Stark likes him, too, so he already has a basis to work off of. It’s gonna work out.

Anyway, that’s how Peter masterfully manipulates Mr. Stark into instituting Stark Internship Sundays, during which Mr. Stark brings Peter to the Avengers Compound so they can tinker with his suits and worship at the altar of science. Eventually, Peter also gets Mr. Stark to break out the Iron Man suit and train him to be a more functional superhero, which involves more high-speed dodgeball and less sparring than Peter had initially expected, but he isn’t complaining. Mr. Stark is great at superhero dodgeball, just like how he’s great at everything except emotional vulnerability. That’s okay, though. That’s what he has Peter for.

Peter loves Stark Internship Sundays. But, after hinting relentlessly at the inconvenience of making two trips between upstate and the city in a single day, Peter gets Mr. Stark to agree to Saturday Movie Night, too, and Peter has gotta say that those are almost better.

Take today, for instance. Peter is half-listening to  _ The Empire Strikes Back _ while Mr. Stark provides a running commentary of how he would alternately evade Darth Vader and take over the Rebel Alliance and do it much better than those idiots on screen. Peter has his feet tucked under Mr. Stark’s thighs and is ruminating over what strategy to take if he wants Mr. Stark to upgrade his couch-sharing privileges to cuddling privileges. Mr. Stark has lots of struggles, and Peter is one hundred percent ready to give him lots of snuggles. 

They’re not quite there yet, though.

But they are at the point where Peter can ask Mr. Stark semi-invasive questions about his personal life because Peter cares about Mr. Stark a lot and isn’t afraid to let him know it. Peter told him these exact words last week while implementing step ten of his twelve step plan. After dropping this metaphorical bomb, Peter immediately absconded to the safety a Happy-chauffeured drive back to NYC and spent the rest of the week half petrified with embarrassment and half terrified that he’d ruined his relationship with Mr. Stark forever, but Mr. Stark didn’t cancel this week’s Saturday Movie Night and Stark Internship Sunday, so everything seems to be okay. 

Anyhow, Han and Leia are escaping on the Millennium Falcon when Peter decides that this is an appropriate moment to segue into the hotly debated and somewhat personal topic— “So, now that Captain America isn’t a fugitive anymore, are the Avengers gonna get back together?”

Captain America and company are back in town. Peter can confirm this because he helped negotiate an inter-vigilante-team extraction just two weeks ago, after Captain America 2.0: Darker, Broody-er, and Beardy-er had been kicked into a Hell’s Kitchen dumpster during a mob takedown gone wrong. Daredevil and Awesome Metal Arm Dude spent fourteen minutes competing over who could silently broadcast how pissed they were more intimidatingly from the darkness of the alleyway, but Peter had still managed to get everyone out of the trash and into their respective crime-fighting territories before anyone got punched in the throat. It was a feat that was, perhaps, not quite on par with how Mr. Stark danced around General Ross and the Sokovia Accords until the government allowed all the Avengers to come home, but Peter still considers it a win. If Peter survives his high school heroics and college admissions, he’s gonna triple major in chemistry, electrical engineering, and dumpster diplomacy. It’s clearly his true calling.

Mr. Stark suddenly looks very engrossed in the android antics on screen. Peter lets him be for thirty-three seconds before pushing his toes up into Mr. Stark’s left hamstring and repeating, “Are you guys gonna get back together?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly on a break,” says Mr. Stark, which is not exactly an answer, so Peter remains still and silent until Mr. Stark finally sighs, turns his head, and looks Peter in the eye. “The Avengers—The situation we’re in right now wasn’t just caused by the Accords, Pete. There were a lot of reasons—There are a lot of reasons why the team came apart, and many of them extend beyond what was reported to the public. So, we—,” Mr. Stark rubs his temple, “I don’t think it’d be— It’s probably not the best idea to integrate the others back into the team right now. You get it, right?”

“Sure.” Peter does not get it. He’d been asking less about the Avengers as a team and more about the Avengers as Mr. Stark’s friends and family. But the whole topic seems to make Mr. Stark sad, so Peter’s willing to nod and let Mr. Stark turn back to the movie and wait the twenty-six minutes it takes for the worry lines on his forehead to smooth out before carefully asking, “...So, is it okay if I start trying to bring the Avengers back together? You know, since I’m kind of an Avenge—er, Avenging Apprentice myself.”

Mr. Stark pinches the bridge of his nose, which Peter takes as a signal to backtrack immediately.

“Sorry, I just— not to sound like— like an accidental child of divorce or anything— I mean, uh, it’s just that, like, if you wanted to, I had this plan where—“ At this point, Mr. Stark decides to add left-eyebrow-raising to his Peter-You’re-Stressing-Me-Out face (patented by Aunt May), so Peter decides that this is the perfect time to inject a movie reference into the conversation and lighten the mood, “a plan where I could— you know, I—“

Inspiration strikes.

“I could be like Tracy Turnblad,” Peter says thoughtfully, “from  _ Hairspray _ .” 

“ _ Hairspray _ ?” Mr. Stark’s face twitches like he’s trying really hard to hold in a sneeze. Or maybe a deluge of sarcastic comments. Either way, he lets himself be distracted, so Peter covertly sighs in relief. “I thought you were studying really old—” Mr. Stark makes little air quotes with his index and middle fingers “— sci-fi movies to maintain your precocious teenage-vigilante aesthetic. What, you diversifying into old rom-com musicals now, Pete?”

“ _ Hairspray _ isn’t that old, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, “I mean, Zefron was in it.”

“Zef— You mean Zac Efron? Kid, that’s—,” Mr. Stark shakes his head, lifts his hands as if he can ward off Peter’s words with his palms, stands up, and makes to leave the lounge. “You— Alright, movie night’s over. Get out of my house.”

Mr. Stark does not kick Peter out of his house. Instead, he comes back with a cocktail platter filled with gummy worms and M&Ms and caramel popcorn, and he lets Peter tuck his feet back under his legs without comment, and the next day, when they’re tinkering in the lab, he only makes fourteen snarky remarks about Peter including “The New Girl in Town” in their science time playlist. However, he doesn’t mention Captain America and the other Avengers again, not even when Peter does his epic Captain America PSA impression in a failed attempt to make him laugh. 

——

“So, that’s definitely tacit permission, right?” Peter says.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” says MJ, in a tone that makes it entirely unclear whether or not she is being sarcastic.

“You owe me fifty dollars in rent,” says Ned. Peter grudgingly hands him a strip of lined paper that MJ has written “50” on with a sparkly blue gel pen.

Peter, MJ, and Ned are supposed to be critiquing each others’ rhetorical analyses of  _ The Grapes of Wrath _ . Instead, they’re playing  _ Monopoly _ with a board and pieces that MJ made using lined paper torn out of Peter’s notebook. They’re investigating the adverse effects of capitalism on the personal bonds between intimates. It’s both on topic and educational.

MJ taps Ned’s phone, rolling the dice in the dice-rolling app Ned downloaded, and says, “It’s cute that you think you’ll be able to bridge the ideological, moral and ethical divide between two high profile cultural-political leaders with a bit of teenage spirit and an ill-fitting movie analogy.” She tries to convince Ned into selling her Reading Railroad. Ned fans himself with his rent money and refuses.

“It’s not ill-fitting,” Peter says, “The situation is exactly like  _ Hairspray _ , except without race relations or beauty pageants or singing or dancing.”

Peter had come up with the  _ Hairspray _ reference on the fly to distract Mr. Stark, but as it left his mouth, he did momentarily consider  _ Hairspray _ as a viable model for reuniting the Avengers. The more he thinks about it, the more viable his  _ Hairspray _ analogy becomes.

“It’ll work out,” Peter insists. MJ rolls her eyes. Ned rolls the dice. “You agree with me, right, Ned?” Peter asks. 

“I don’t know, Peter,” Ned worries at a paper hotel before adding it to his stack of two at Park Place. “I love the Avengers, but they aren’t exactly ‘The Nicest Kids in Town.’ I don’t think you should get too tangled up in their drama. But if you do do your plan—“

“—Ha, you said doodoo—“

“—You better tell me all about it, so I can live vicariously through your superhero—uh, superhero-adjacent adventures.” Ned finishes shakily. Peter side-eyes him. Despite MJ’s recent omnipresence, they still haven’t figured out if she has figured out that Peter’s Spider-Man. Every conversation that involves the Stark Internship is a minefield. Peter’s life is filled with constant terror. 

“Yeah, me too,” MJ says. She grins like a shark. “I would give up my copy of  _ The New Jim Crow _ to see Captain America perform ‘Big, Blonde and Beautiful.’”

“MJ!” Peter gasps, pressing his right hand to his chest in shock. “I can’t believe you! Obviously, Mr. Stark would be Velma. He’s just as glamorous.”

“No, no, no,” Ned says, “Velma’s evil. The only true Velma here is Thaddeus Ross.”

Peter thinks about it. Nods. He can handle the truth. 

“Then who’s Mr. Stark?” Both Ned and MJ pause to think about this very important question. Peter rolls the dice. 

“Well, if you’re Tracy...then he has to be Edna, right?”

Peter hesitates in the middle of moving his paper dog to imagine himself and Mr. Stark in matching pink hairbands and sequined gowns, dancing in powder pink heels to “Welcome to the 60’s.”

Peter snorts so loudly and with such force that he half-flips the  _ Monopoly _ board and effectively ends the game, much to the dismay of Ned and MJ. It’s okay. Peter was gonna have to mortgage his soul anyway, if he’d wanted another chance to pass GO.


	2. it takes two, baby

Peter has a twenty-three step plan to reunite the Avengers. This plan is brought to you by the 2007 musical movie  _ Hairspray _ . 

In  _ Hairspray _ , Tracy Turnblad uses a grassroots approach to insinuate her way into both  _ The Corny Collins Show  _ and Motormouth Maybelle’s store before uniting the two groups in one big televised dance bonanza. Peter can do the same thing. But with less dancing.

So, Peter doesn’t have to confront Captain America right away, which he’s not secretly relieved about because Captain America once clocked him in the face with his shield and dropped part of an airport on him. Instead, Peter decides to go for Awesome Metal Arm Dude first, because Peter knows Awesome Metal Arm Dude. They’ve played catch with a metal sign. He’s webbed him to the floor. They’ve even held hands once. Kinda. 

In other words, they’re connected. Metal Arm Dude will understand him. And Metal Arm Dude conveniently skulks around Brooklyn at night, kicking the shit out of mobsters and rapists, so can Peter really be blamed for targeting him with the forces of friendship first?

They even share a hobby.

Well, kind of. Ever since MJ started taking an online course on mass incarceration, Ned and Peter have started taking a course on mass incarceration by proxy, considering that MJ spams their group chat with her readings and interrogates them about institutionalized racism and classism during lunch. Peter studies in self defense. And as a vigilante-cum-Avenger in training, he feels like he should be educated about the systematic socio-economic oppression that he may or may not be complicit in enforcing. 

He’s working on it.

As a result, lately Peter has been more careful about which people he calls the police on after restraining them. He’s always focused more on diverting bullets than breaking the hands that held the guns, but now he’s even more conscious of his actions. Spider-Man is a protector, not a punisher. Peter, though. That’s still up in the air.

Anyway, after doing his last circuit around Queens, during which he checks on Ned and MJ and Mr. Delmar’s deli and any member of the Decathlon team who has been looking especially troubled lately, Peter heads over to Brooklyn to see if he can pull off a positive interaction with Awesome Metal Arm Dude. He’s already preparing his opening quips. 

Of course, he doesn’t actually get to use any of them, because a whole troupe of ninjas decides that tonight’s apparently a good night for spider hunting. Peter is offended. He’s never done anything to the ninjas except maybe ply their arch-nemeses with baked goods. And he can’t be blamed for that. Those vigilantes needed a good feeding.

Well, Peter muses, as a ninja swings a blade scarily close to his brainstem, at least if the ninjas get Peter, they won’t be in Queens. Peter can’t beat a flock of ninjas on his own, but he damn well can lead them away from the people he loves.

Peter’s arms are burning, and he’s bleeding from eight cuts, and he’s wondering if ninjas are the type of villains who’ll scatter if you trick them into dunking themselves in a river like those poor dogs from  _ Up _ or if that’ll just ensure that Peter’s corpse is horrible and bloated after the police fish him out of the East River when Peter plows into Awesome Metal Arm Dude. Like, literally plows. Peter swings right into him and almost knocks them both into the dumpster at the end of the alleyway Metal Arm Dude was exiting before Peter decided to gift him with a full-body, aerial tackle. 

It isn’t Peter’s best moment. In his defense, the blood from his head wound was dripping into his eyes.

“Ow, my head, my— everything,” Peter says, as Metal Arm Dude quickly shoves Peter off of him and then just as quickly reaches out to steady Peter by the shoulders before he can stagger backwards and brain himself on a poorly boarded-up window. Metal Arm Dude probably recognizes the mask, since he continues not trying to immediately murder Peter, which Peter appreciates. The ninjas, not so much.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter says, high-pitched and panicky, as he turns to face the approaching horde. “We met in Germany, remember? D’you mind giving me a hand?”

It definitely counts as a meet-cute, because Peter’s life is now so weird and terrifying that a fight where no one gets seriously injured or murked counts as cute. Metal Arm Dude is just as good at close combat as Peter remembers, so Peter focuses on webbing up the ninjas from a distance while Metal Arm Dude handles the heat. Peter keeps Metal Arm Dude from getting stabbed four times and only accidentally hits him with a web once. They’re a pretty good team. 

Once all the ninjas are down, Peter hops down from his perch on the dumpster and doubles over, hands on his knees, next to Metal Arm Dude. “Phew, that was scary.” Peter takes a deep breath, and then another, and then another just for good measure, and then he glances up at Metal Arm Dude and says, “Thanks, man.”

Metal Arm Dude gives him a look. Peter instinctively straightens up and takes a step back. Maybe tonight’s fight will end with one person’s murder. The look in Metal Arm Dude’s eyes implies that that person is Peter. 

“I— I’m gonna call the cops to pick these guys up, and then I’ll be outta your hair. Promise.” Metal Arm Dude doesn’t react. “Um, sorry about the thing at the airport, and thanks again for helping me tonight.” Peter tries a smile, forgetting that the mask doesn’t broadcast his smiles that well. 

Metal Arm Dude continues to stare. Peter stays as still as possible. He feels like he’s in  _ Jurassic Park _ , praying that the dinosaur won’t eat him if he doesn’t move.

Eventually, Metal Arm Dude shakes his head slightly and stops looking at Peter, who lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. For no apparent reason, Peter feels like he just passed some sort of test he hadn’t studied for and didn’t realize anyone was administering. Metal Arm Dude doesn’t say a word or make any facial expressions, but he does give Peter a minuscule nod before leaving so quickly that Peter doesn’t even get the opportunity to thank him a third time. 

That’s okay, though. Peter definitely believes it wasn’t a coincidence that he ran into Metal Arm Dude during his time of need. After swinging home, checking that Aunt May is safe, and panicking quietly in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, Peter rejoices. He knew they were connected!

They’re totally gonna be crime-fighting buddies now. Peter irons out a plan in lieu of sleeping. Sleep is for the weak, anyway. Repeatedly being woken up by nightmares is doubly so.

For some reason, more people have been willing to attack Spider-Man on sight lately. Tonight was the first time Peter had been chased by an entire troupe of ninjas, but he usually sees one or two charging at him if his patrols ever diverge out of Queens. He should probably meet up with some Manhattan vigilantes to see what’s up with that. Maybe they can have a potluck.

But this upsurge in the amount of criminals willing to make the first move in attacking Peter means that Peter can conveniently use their presence to deepen his friendship with Awesome Metal Arm Dude. That’s right. Peter can make anything into a win. He’s gonna make Metal Arm Dude get emotionally attached to him through the camaraderie inherent in beating up bad guys and trying not to die together. It’s a foolproof plan.

So, Peter starts staying out a bit later after normal patrol, and he uses that extra time to bring criminals to Awesome Metal Arm Dude. Some days it’s ninjas from Hell’s Kitchen who have enough free time to chase Peter all the way to Brooklyn. Other days it’s just run-of-the-mill mob members who want to bring their boss Spider-Man’s head on a pike or something. Peter isn’t part of the mob. He doesn’t know. What he does know is that Metal Arm Dude seems to find stony, visceral satisfaction in beating these guys up. Of course, Spider-Man helps. 

Twice, they pull off this really cool move where Metal Arm Dude kicks a guy so hard that he goes flying, and then as he’s careening through the air, Spider-Man webs him to the wall, where he is conveniently stored until the police arrive. Teamwork!

All in all, Peter spends five days wooing Metal Arm Dude like how a cat woos his owner by bringing them dead prey. Except the prey is alive, in this case. Peter hopes Metal Arm Dude appreciates it.

It’s been another fun night of being chased across two boroughs for a team-up fight when Peter finally manages to get Awesome Metal Arm Dude to talk to him. Unfortunately, this conversation occurs because Peter has apparently annoyed Metal Arm Dude into wordiness. After Peter webs up the last ninja for safe and secure police transport, he turns around to find Metal Arm Dude looming over him intimidatingly, arms folded, seemingly displeased.

He sounds just as scary and cool as he looks when he says, “Any reason why you keep dragging trouble to me? Punk.”

I wanted to manipulate you into a long and healthy friendship by using our mutual hobby of restraining murderous ninjas, so that you’d put in a good word for me with your star-spangled leader, and then you’d all kiss and make up with the father figure I’m forcibly adopting. “Well, I just thought— You know, you’re pretty good at the whole fighting thing, and I— I wanted to—to—“

“Use me as a convenient criminal disposal service?” Metal Arm Dude says emotionlessly.

“No! No, no, nonononono, sir, I just— I— you’re—“ 

“A dangerous assassin who you’ve been spying on for Tony Stark?”

“No!” If this was happening in any other context, Peter would suspect that he was being teased. However, this exchange is happening in a dark alleyway filled with beaten-up ninjas, so Peter finds it reasonable to worry for his life. “Seriously, dude, I just wanted to— to be— um, friends?”

Metal Arm Dude raises an eyebrow at Peter.

“Crime-fighting friends, like— like, you know. Vigilante buddies. Unofficial potential team ups. Always good to have more allies in the city, and we can cover each other’s patrols and stuff sometimes, too.” Peter feels like he’s trying and failing to recruit freshmen into AcaDec at Midtown’s club fair. Murderous, part-metal freshmen.

With two eyebrows raised, now.

“And—and as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, I can act as a liaison between you guys and some of the less, uh, social vigilantes, too? Like, Jessica Jones gives really good advice on how not to end up in dumpsters. Kinda feels like you guys could work on that.” Peter might not be selling this very well. He should really, really shut up now.

Metal Arm Dude apparently agrees, because he leans back and tells Peter to stop before he gives himself an aneurysm.

Peter stops. The risk of impending murder doesn’t seem that high anymore, anyway.

Peter stands quietly in the alleyway while Metal Arm Dude calls the police from a burner phone, spends three and a half minutes squinting at Peter like he really is a very interesting bug, and then gestures at Peter to follow him.

Peter spends forty-five seconds being very afraid that Metal Arm Dude is bringing him to Captain America, so that he can make Peter an offer he can’t refuse. Peter hopes he can convince the captain that blood is a big expense. But, it doesn’t happen that way. Instead, Metal Arm Dude leads Peter to the roof of a crumbling low-rise apartment building and teaches him how to throw a punch.

Peter learns a lot. For example, he learns that Metal Arm Dude, despite having a metal arm, is actually very gentle. He’s careful when he adjusts Peter’s left shoulder so that it’s curled protectively around his jawbone, and he straightens Peter’s elbow and wrist like he’s afraid Peter’s bones will crumple if he squeezes too hard. And when Peter refuses to practice punching him at full speed and strength, Metal Arm Dude just looks at him for a moment before shrugging and asking if he wants to learn an elbow strike, too. In exchange for this kindness, Peter takes Metal Arm Dude to one of his favorite late-night pizza places in Brooklyn. They eat for free; Spider-Man often helps the owner’s mother cross the street.

After Peter calls Metal Arm Dude “dude” for the eighteenth time during their fiery and somewhat one-sided debate about the best pizza in New York, Metal Arm Dude tells Peter to call him Bucky. Peter doesn’t, because his aunt raised him better than that, but he takes this as a sign that Mr. Bucky has accepted his initial overtures in friendship. 

Which is good, because the vigilantes in Hell’s Kitchen were getting pissed about Peter hogging all the ninjas. Peter owes the Punisher two loaves of cranberry almond biscotti.

——

Peter is helping Mr. Stark make carbonara for movie night when Mr. Stark casually pulls out his phone, says, “Oh, would you look at that!” and shows Peter a blurry photo of Spider-Man and Mr. Bucky playing catch with a ninja. 

“Hey, Pete, Twitter says that Spider-Man has been spotted hanging out with the assassin formerly known as the Winter Soldier. Know anything about that?” Mr. Stark says, in a very casual manner.

Peter resists the urge to cry Photoshop. He’s tried that before, when Mr. Stark was commenting on an interaction between Spider-Man and a flock of very aggressive pigeons, so he knows it doesn’t work. “Ugh, yeah,” Peter says, focusing very hard on the single egg he’s beating. “I keep tweeting at Spidey-Watch to try to get them to stop using his Hydra slave name, but they keep ignoring me. Maybe I need to make an official Spider-Man Twitter.” Good segue. Peter mentally pats himself on the back. “Mr. Stark, if I make an official Spider-Man Twitter, will you follow me?” Peter stops bashing his egg to smile at Mr. Stark imploringly.

Mr. Stark gives Peter a look and then rolls his eyes. “Don’t you dare use those puppy dog eyes on me, kid. I don’t support any of your recipes for disaster.” He stirs the pasta. “And stay away from the ex-assassins of New York. I’m serious, Peter.” Mr. Stark places a hand on Peter’s left shoulder and turns Peter towards him, so Peter can see just how serious he is. “These people are dangerous. You don’t want to be involved in any of their business.”

Peter takes that comment under advisement, since he does, in fact, want to be involved in their business, considering that their business involves Mr. Stark’s personal happiness. Peter didn’t miss how Mr. Stark responded to his texts during the whole Sokovia Accords thing. Two sunglasses emojis in response to a sassy remark about the new residents of Avengers Tower? Mr. Stark must’ve been feeling pretty down.

So, what’s a little danger between friends? Peter eats Aunt May’s cooking a couple times per week. Danger is his middle name.


	3. seems to dance on air

“So.  _ Hairspray _ , huh.”

Peter does not scream like a little girl, and even if he does, there isn’t anything wrong with that. Little girls are devious and clever, and once someone figures out how to weaponize the sound of their screams, they’ll be able to take over the world. Peter knows this because Spider-Man once helped a kindergartener who was screaming bloody murder while stuck at the top of her playground’s jungle gym. He still suspects that she did it on purpose to con him into the twenty minutes of double dutch and four square they played afterwards.

Anyway.

After screaming like a man— a Spider-Man— as anyone would if someone had whispered the name of their master plan into their right ear while they were hanging out on top of the formerly-known-as-Avengers-Tower tower, Peter spins around and finds himself mask to face with Black Widow. 

He almost jumps off the tower.

“What? I mean, yeah— Um, yes, ma’am, Miss Black Widow.  _ Hairspray _ .” Peter doesn’t question how Black Widow knows about his  _ Hairspray _ plan. Or where he’s hanging out today during a lull in his patrol. He also resists the urge to deny everything and then run and hide. She’s Black Widow. She probably knows his favorite movies and what restaurant he orders larb from most often and maybe even his porn preferences.

Peter shudders. Black Widow tells him to turn on the heater in his suit or go back home to pull on a couple more layers because it looks like it’s about to snow. Peter doesn’t question how she knows any of this. He turns on the heater. 

They sit on the former Avengers Tower together and watch New York bustle in the November chill. Peter’s almost too terrified to breathe. He counts Uber stickers on the windshields of cars below to try to calm down. His plan does not involve meeting Black Widow this early, and he has suddenly lost the ability to improvise. This may have something to do with how he can sense Black Widow staring at him, but every time he sneaks a look at her, she’s gazing down at the city. She’s just as terrifying and awesome as he imagined, but the sustained silence suggests that she isn’t great at kids. Or conversations that aren’t business. 

Actually, she kinda reminds Peter of early-stage-parental-adoption-plan Mr. Stark. That’s good. Now Peter can choose an appropriate approach strategy.

“So,” he says, trying to phase out the tremble in his voice, “What do you think of my  _ Hairspray _ plan? Ma’am,” he adds. A little bit of politeness never killed nobody, though if it did, Black Widow would probably know.

“It’s a bit loquacious. You could condense it into three steps.” The right corner of Black Widow’s lips twitches upwards. Maybe that’s a smile? Peter hopes that’s a smile. “And don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, with a jaunty salute. 

Now that’s definitely a smile.

But it fades fast. “You know that no matter if it’s three steps or twenty-three, this plan of yours isn’t likely to be successful.”

Peter shrugs. He has faith. It worked in  _ Hairspray _ .

“When the team was created, the Avengers frequently clashed because of ideological differences and conflicting personalities, and the divide between team members was only exacerbated by the battles and destruction that followed.”

“Friends fight,” Peter says.

“Not like us.”

That seems unnecessarily exclusionist, but Peter isn’t going to sass Black Widow while trying to convince her that he’s capable of reassembling her super friend group. 

“I’m not gonna give up on my Avengers reunion  _ Hairspray _ plan,” he says instead.

“You will, and the earlier you do, the less time you’ll waste— time that you could spend on saving people, instead of meddling in other people’s personal lives.”

That stings, but— “I won’t,” Peter says.

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Won’t!”

Black Widow stands abruptly and begins to walk away. Her back says, “I will not be engaging in this preschool argument with you, you toddler. Also, fuck off.” 

This throws a big, fat wrench in Peter’s plan, so Peter panics. He always panics more easily when he’s sleep-deprived, and he’s always sleep-deprived nowadays. And he has a good reason to panic. He’s probably just annoyed Black Widow into ignoring him forever, ruining Mr. Stark’s chances of having all the Avengers back, something that’ll keep Mr. Stark isolated at the compound with sixteen versions of Peter’s suit to pick at and a full bar that Peter pretends not to see refilled every weekend and the ghosts of what could have been floating around every empty room. Peter often panics about this at night because he knows Aunt May is snoring in the next room and Ned is passed out by his laptop at home and MJ is as safe as she can be at the moment, but he doesn’t know if Mr. Stark has Miss Potts or Happy or Colonel Rhodes, who are often busy doing adult things and can’t be with Mr. Stark all the time, and Peter does know that Mr. Stark almost always has regret and whisky and cold, lonely hallways far away upstate where Peter can’t make sure he’s okay, and Peter hates it, and sometimes he even hates  _ them _ for not talking it through like reasonable people, for giving up on Mr. Stark so easily, for not being able to pull it together now. 

Peter hates it when he hates. But adults are so frustrating. It’s like they haven’t learned anything from  _ The Breakfast Club _ . Or  _ The Thing _ . 

They’re lucky Peter is here with his awesome plans. 

But, if Black Widow doesn’t even want to try to reunite the Avengers, then there isn’t much Peter can do, and to top it off, she’s not even  _ listening _ to him, so Peter can only be blamed for ninety percent of the semi-provocative word vomit that follows.

“Were the Avengers like a family to you, Miss Black Widow?” he says loudly. She pauses, turns her head minutely, so she can look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Do you miss them?” Peter had assumed that he knew, because after many, many hours of hanging out with Mr. Stark, Peter feels worthy of a certification in interpreting the emotions of repressed, traumatized superheroes. But he’s quickly learning that he can’t assume everything about Black Widow by extrapolating from Mr. Stark. 

His instinctive backtracking when faced with their silent adult judgment is the same, though. Peter coughs. “I mean, I’m sure you still hang out with Captain America and them, but it’s different from all living together and training together and fighting together, right? Some things never came back together after the whole Sokovia Accords thing.” Peter draws in one shaky breath and says more softly, “So, do you miss them?”

Black Widow stares at him, and Peter can’t tell what she’s thinking, but it might be his odds of survival if she shoves him off the tower for trying to force her into an emotionally charged moment. Distracted by the ominous drumroll of his heart, he almost misses her response. 

If his hearing wasn’t enhanced, he never would have heard it. But, it is, so he does. He also hears her heartbeat pick up slightly, sees the half-formed snowflake that lands softly below her eye and melts into a droplet on her cheek. Black Widow doesn’t wipe it away, and her face remains stony, and her eyes still broadcast her readiness to cut a bitch. Peter is the bitch in this scenario.

But it’s okay. Peter gets it. He’s been there.

Peter tells Black Widow that Mr. Stark feels the same way.

“And Mr. Stark is important to me, so I’m gonna do this until— until it’s done.” Peter clears his throat. He’d prepared this speech in the event that Mr. Stark tried to stop him from reuniting the Avengers on movie night, but it may work on Black Widow, too. He wishes he’d practiced it more. “If the  _ Hairspray _ plan doesn’t work, I’ve still got plans B through Z. There’re enough movies for all the plans I’ll ever need. And I’m not gonna give up, ‘cause this thing you guys have is far from unfixable. You just need a little outside intervention. I can be that for Mr. Stark. And for you, too, Miss Black Widow.” Peter turns, making sure none of his words will be lost in the sounds of New York traffic. “I’ll bring your family back.”

Silence, except for honking and screeching. This is a sentence that Peter has used to reassure New Yorkers that he’ll find their lost children, dogs, parrots, grandmas. He has rehearsed it a lot, and his delivery has never improved. Peter’s not good at sounding like a grown-up superhero, but he is good at telling the truth, mostly because he’s such a terrible liar. And this is a promise he always keeps.

Black Widow is facing away from him, and her voice is flat when she says, “I can see that you got more than your suit from Stark. Seems like overconfidence is contagious.”

“It’s not confidence,” Peter shakes his head. “It’s conviction.”

Black Widow does not seem very impressed by his conviction.

She walks to the other side of the rooftop and looks ready to make a dramatic exit when another plan-salvaging idea pops into Peter’s head. He quickly gathers all the rest of his courage to call, “Hey! Um, what’s your favorite movie?” Peter fiddles with his web shooters.

Black Widow doesn’t turn. “I’m not one for films,” she says shortly. Pauses. “I’m fond of  _ The Firebird _ .”

And then she vanishes over the side of the building. Peter waits for one, two, three seconds before sprinting over and looking down. No one but good old New York. Black Widow has disappeared more thoroughly than a spider in the shower the second time you come looking for it. However, on his mask’s HUD, Peter can see a blinking red dot. And it’s moving.

“Holy shit!” Peter says, “I can’t believe that worked.”

——

“You did not  _ Good Will Hunting _ the Black Widow.”

“I mean, I kinda did.”

“You mean Black Widow let you  _ Good Will Hunting _ her.”

“Yeah, that seems more probable.”

“Hey!”

“But, anyway, what’s your next step, Peter?”

“Well...do you guys know if there’re any local ballet shows happening soon? One with tickets within a normal high schooler’s budget?”

“Um? No? Unless the Tinikling performance that the multicultural club is doing counts.”

“...I know one. I’ll tell you once you finish that Wacquant article. Ned and I are already on Foucault, and we can’t delay forever. Lunchtime is intellectual debate time, not superhero gossip time.”

“Yeah, Peter, get on our level.”

“You guys are the ones who wanted to know!”

——

On Friday, Peter shows up at Black Widow’s apartment with two tickets to  _ The Nutcracker _ .

“It’s performed by this kids’ ballet class? Well, it’s more of a community program, actually. The instructors are these NYU students who teach the kids all the dances and also help them with their reading skills and stuff. My friend knows someone who started the program, so she was helping design ads and sell tickets. And I saw the posters, and I just thought of you, so I was wondering if you might be willing to go with me? For, you know, spider-themed hero bonding time?”

Black Widow is leaning against the door frame, wearing yoga pants and a fuzzy sweater, looking extremely cool and deadly and probably only fifteen percent as cool and deadly as she actually is. She does not look surprised to see him, which is a little disappointing, but Peter will get over it. He’s way too busy freaking out over trying to befriend Black Widow to be disappointed right now.

After all, Black Widow is one of the original Avengers. That means she’s, like, one of Mr. Stark’s original BFFs. Peter bets that Mr. Stark would be really happy to have her back. Also, she’s totally awesome and probably has a million embarrassing stories about Mr. Stark, so Peter definitely wants to be her friend.

Black Widow still hasn’t responded. Peter takes that as a sign to keep talking.

“Um, the show’s tonight, if you aren’t doing anything right now, but if you’re busy, there’s also a matinee tomorrow...”

Black Widow reaches for something behind the door. Peter tenses. It’s a wool pea coat. Peter un-tenses.

“Well,” she says, giving him a once over. “Are you going like that?”

“Oh,” Peter blinks and looks down. “Yeah?” He’s wearing the spider suit. He’s wearing the spider suit because his  _ Hairspray _ plan is more of a Spider-Man-level thing. Also because he feels better about inviting ex-assassins to ballet performances if they can’t read his thoughts directly out of his eyes.

Black Widow makes a face. It looks like Mr. Stark’s face when he doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or roll his eyes. 

It’s a good face, so Peter feels safe enough to let Black Widow tug him into her apartment and pull a hoodie dress over his suit and wrap a scarf around his mask. She also hands him a huge puffy coat, so he looks like a big blue marshmallow in footie pajamas walking next to a really pretty and really scary yoga instructor as they make their way to the Greenwich Village middle school whose auditorium the ballet show is co-opting. 

Peter isn’t great at silence, so he keeps up a steady stream of chatter while they walk, telling funny stories about all the weird pets Spider-Man has rescued from this area and about that time a local artist asked Spider-Man to pose for a semi-lewd statue he wanted to put up near his studio. Black Widow doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t tell him to shut up either, so Peter keeps talking until they reach the entrance to the auditorium.

“Um, could you...” Peter says, suddenly very aware that he is, in fact, wearing the Spider-Man suit under all of Black Widow’s clothing. He hands her the tickets and ducks his head to hide his huge, reflective Spidey eyes. Black Widow walks up to the peppy college student at the auditorium doors and trades the tickets for two programs. They enter the room together.

Black Widow chooses two seats at the end of the back row, where Peter can loosen the scarf around his mask without worrying too much. He keeps the hood on. It’s a full house, filled with parents and irritated older siblings and grandparents setting up camcorders in the aisles. Black Widow seems a bit unsettled, and Peter fiddles with the program that MJ designed, wondering if a dark, noisy, crowded auditorium is, perhaps, a bad place to bring an ex-spy to. 

Peter decides to distract her; he’s very good at being distracting. “You know, I used to practice ballet,” he says. 

Black Widow turns her head minutely in his direction.

“Yeah,” Peter continues, “my— uh, my guardians used to send me to dance classes at the local community center ‘cause I had a lot of energy. I did ballet for a little bit. Thought the spins were fun. Actually, I should probably go back and take a refresher class. They have open dance nights for adults, too. Do you like dancing, Miss Black Widow?”

Peter doesn’t think this is a very personal question, but Black Widow still hesitates for a long time before nodding slowly.

“We should go together sometime,” Peter says, right before the lights dim and a shaky line of elementary schoolers, all holding hands, are coaxed on stage by two undergrads.

It’s the most adorable mess that Peter has ever seen. The show is called  _ The Nutcracker _ , but there aren’t any solos, and no one follows the choreography. Instead, the kids grin and leap around to the music, doing pliés out of sync and trying their absolute hardest to follow along with the two college dancers at the sides of the stage, who are reminding them what to do. 

At least once per dance, the kids grab each others’ hands and form a circle in the center of the stage, giggling and spinning around. The fifth time they do this, Peter is smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt, and when he glances over at Black Widow, the expression on her face is the softest he’s ever seen it.

Of course, that’s when one of the little girls on stage gasps and points in their direction, screaming, “Spider-Man!”

People start to turn, and Peter almost has a heart attack. But, before anyone can raise a phone, Black Widow grabs Peter’s wrist and bolts.

“S-sorry, sorry, sorry about that,” Peter gasps, once they’ve taken an appropriately confusing and circuitous route back to the safety of Black Widow’s apartment. He feels pretty dumb about showing up as Spider-Man now, especially since he’s sixty-eight percent sure Black Widow already knows his secret identity. She’s Black Widow. He’d be more surprised if she didn’t know.

“It’s okay,” Black Widow shrugs. “I had fun.”

Peter pauses in the middle of folding the hoodie dress he’d borrowed. Black Widow just said she had fun with him. Peter will treasure this moment forever.

As Black Widow walks him to the door, she says, “I’ll cooperate with your  _ Hairspray _ plan—“

“Cool!”

“—But I don’t endorse your actions.”

“No, yeah, that’s totally reasonable,” Peter nods repeatedly. “But, I’m definitely gonna work all this out. Before you know it, you’ll all be hanging out in the Avengers Compound, and you’ll have to take a five hour drive downstate if you ever wanna see baby ballerinas with me again.”

Black Widow gives him a level stare. Behind the lenses of his mask, Peter looks right back. 

Black Widow wraps her scarf back around Peter’s neck and says, “Don’t give me hope.”

The next Tuesday, Peter bakes Black Widow spider-themed sugar cookies and delivers them in a cute ballerina-patterned gift bag. He also starts regularly inviting her to open dance nights at the nearby cultural center, so she doesn’t assume he only bribed her with a ballet show for the sake of getting her to cooperate with his plan. She should know that Peter also bribed her to earn her friendship.

Well, because she’s Black Widow, she probably would’ve known without him showing it so obviously, but Peter likes to be sure that the people he likes know that he likes them. That way, if he ever loses them, at least he won’t wonder if they knew how much he loved them.

——

Peter’s feeling like a really old movie this week, so he puts on  _ The Shawshank Redemption _ . It had been one of Uncle Ben’s favorite movies starting from when it’d been released, despite all the initial negative press. Ben had had enough compassion for everyone, real or fictional. Peter wishes he could’ve learned to be the same way.

“Would you help me break out of prison, Mr. Stark?” Peter says.

“No way,“ Mr. Stark deadpans. “If you’re stuck in a cell, at least I know you’re not at risk of causing catastrophic damage to yourself by trying to take down a guy with electrical powers using spider webs.”

“That was one time!” Peter says. “And it worked out okay.”

“Yeah, because the cavalry arrived. Don’t forget to phone a friend when you need to, Mr. Parker.”

“I know, I know. But speaking of phoning a friend...” Peter waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Mr. Stark groans and smacks his whole hand onto Peter’s forehead, so he can’t move his eyebrows anymore. “You still thinking about that Avengers reunion shit? Spend some more time worrying about your own problems, kid. You look like you’re auditioning for the lead of a live action _ Kung Fu Panda _ .”

Peter is offended. He expresses this offense by batting at Mr. Stark’s arm with one hand and stealing his popcorn with the other. “Nah, I’d totally be Viper,” he says through a mouthful of stolen loot. “She’s the coolest one.”

Mr. Stark moves the popcorn bowl away and makes a hand motion like he’s pretending to spray Peter with a squirt bottle. “No,” he says. 

Peter puts his hands up, totally innocent. They continue watching the movie.

Peter blames his sleep-deprived delirium for what happens later that night. After his head has gotten so heavy that sitting upright is making him feel sick, Peter flops into Mr. Stark’s lap and squirms around until he finds a comfy place on Mr. Stark’s left thigh to rest his cheek on. This is a part of Peter’s plan that he hadn’t planned on executing until later, since he didn’t want to scare Mr. Stark away with physical intimacy. But, Peter is so, so tired, and he always improvises a little with his plans anyway, so what’s the harm?

As expected, Mr. Stark goes all stiff and uncomfortable, and if Peter was feeling a little more clear-headed, he would back off and get all quippy like usual or maybe take the opportunity to engage Mr. Stark in an emotionally charged moment. 

Instead, Peter drags Mr. Stark’s hand over until it’s resting in his hair. 

Spider-Man once found a pitbull who’d been missing for two and a half weeks. After Peter cajoled the dog over with half a Slim Jim and fed her bottled water out of his cupped hand, the dog shoved her head into his right palm, pressing into his fingers until he found the spot behind her left ear that made her close her eyes and hum with satisfaction. Petting the dog, Peter had suddenly been reminded of a time when he was still new to May and Ben and how, during one night, Ben had stood motionlessly at the foot of Peter’s makeshift bed in the living room while Peter was crying out for his parents. After spotting his silhouette, Peter had tugged at his hand until he sat, and Peter had squeezed Ben’s wrist and pressed Ben’s palm to his cheek and cried and cried until he fell asleep again. It’s a memory so old that Peter isn’t sure if he made it up. But, he is sure that every time Ben spotted him crying after that, Ben would cup his cheek to wipe away the tears, look him in the eyes, and tell him “It’s okay” and “You’re okay.” 

So, Peter’s pretty sure he knows how to train humans to show affection. And Peter is an engineer; he’s good at applying knowledge. 

Ignoring Mr. Stark’s awkwardness, Peter shifts his head, making Mr. Stark’s fingers card through his hair. 

Mr. Stark is a certified genius. He learns fast. 

Peter drifts off to the sound of Andy Dufresne talking about hope, and he jolts awake at 4:52 AM when Mr. Stark lets out a particularly loud snore, his hand now a warm and comforting weight on Peter’s back.

There’s a fleece blanket covered in happy snowmen tucked around them both. Peter’s hair is completely untangled.


	4. i know the road seems long

So far, the Avengers reunion  _ Hairspray _ plan is going swimmingly, with way less blood and terror than Peter had predicted. It’s still fifty percent more blood and terror than Peter wants in his life, but you can’t have everything. At least Peter has eyes on his next target now.

The Falcon jogs around Brooklyn Bridge Park from 5:45 to 6:30 in the morning on Mondays through Fridays. Peter knows this because he is an insomniac, crime-fighting fifteen year old with access to high tech Stark drones. 

Also because Black Widow told him. 

It’s nice having more super allies. For example, when Peter asks Mr. Bucky how to get the Falcon to be his friend, Mr. Bucky strongly recommends jogging circles around the Falcon until Peter proves he is the superior athlete. Then the Falcon will have to submit. 

Peter nods agreeably but secretly decides to leave this strategy as a last resort, since it kinda sounds like something Flash would do to Peter, and Flash is none-ty percent willing to Peter’s friend. Peter still appreciates the help, though.

Peter cuts down on the time he spends lying in bed, staring at the top bunk, and waiting for his alarm to go off in the morning. He leaves a note for Aunt May, slips on the suit, packs a set of street clothes, grabs his backpack, and swings over to Brooklyn to fit in a morning jog with the Falcon before school starts. 

Is this a healthy lifestyle? Peter ponders while he swings.

“No,” says the Falcon, quickly jogging away before Peter can get close enough to say good morning. 

“Aw, come on,” Peter says, jogging behind the Falcon at a distance that keeps him non-threatening but audible. “I’m really sorry about webbing your wings. And hitting you in the face. And kicking you. But you threw me out of a window, so we’re pretty much even!”

The Falcon starts sprinting. Well, joke’s on him. Peter can outrun Mr. Stark’s fastest cars, and he has the cardiovascular endurance of a genetically-altered spider human. He’s the best goddamn endurance runner in this goddamn city.

Eventually, when the other morning joggers are out of earshot, the Falcon stops running. Breathing heavily, he glares at Peter, who’s hugging his backpack to his chest now, since running makes his pre-calc book dig into his lower back. The Falcon glances at the backpack, and his eye twitches, but he quickly redirects his glare back to Peter’s face. 

“Look,” the Falcon says. “I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you used on Barnes and Romanoff, but it won’t work on me. I don’t hold any personal grudges against you, but there’s no love lost between me and Stark. So, unless you actually need something, you should go crawling back to your boss and tell him I’m not going back to be one of his little sycophants.”

Wow, harsh. Also, rude. And— “Uh, I actually do need something from you, Mr. Falcon,” Peter says. He quickly adds, “It’s not about Mr. Stark, so you don’t have to worry about that.” 

And it really isn’t. It’s not even about the  _ Hairspray _ plan.

The Falcon crosses his arms and nods at Peter to continue. Huh. Fifty percent of Peter had been hoping the Falcon would refuse to hear him out. The other fifty percent of Peter listens to Aunt May when she tells him that it’s okay to ask people for help. Peter takes a deep breath. Clears his throat. Stares at the ground and toes at the grass.

“A couple months ago, my date’s dad threatened my family and dropped a building on me, and now I can’t sleep without compulsively checking on everyone I love to see if they’re safe first, and I still wake up a bunch in the middle of the night. Nightmares, you know? Um, Google says that you used to help veterans with PTSD. I don’t— I don’t think I have that, but could you give me some tips for sleeping better anyway?”

Peter’s pretty sure he blacked out a couple times during Spanish yesterday, and that just won’t do. He really needs to ace this next Spanish oral. And not fatally smash himself into a tall building while swinging around as Spider-Man.

The Falcon has a look on his face that Peter doesn’t know how to interpret, but it quickly transitions into calm neutrality when he notices Peter peeking up at him.

“Well,” the Falcon says, “A lot of folks I know take Prazosin or Trazodone to help themselves fall asleep and stay asleep, but I’m guessing that with all that—“ He gestures at Peter generally “— going on, normal medication won’t work for you.”

Peter nods. That is an accurate guess which Peter has verified through trial and error. No, he did not do it in a safe science way, and, yes, May and Mr. Stark did team up to hold an intervention for him.

“Then you can try sticking to a regular sleep schedule. Avoid eating a heavy dinner, go to bed at the same time each night, and try not to exercise within six hours of your bedtime.”

“Yeah, uh, that’s not gonna work for me.” Six hours before Peter’s bedtime covers his prime patrolling hours. If crime won’t sleep before midnight, then neither will he. 

The Falcon eyes Peter. “You seeing a therapist?”

“No,” Peter says,” I mean— what could I even tell them? Hey, I’m Spider-Man; please don’t tell anyone who I am while I put you in danger by confessing everything about my secret double life to you, so you can help me sleep?” Peter shakes his head, and then his phone alarm goes off. He needs to get going soon, so he’ll have time to change and make sure no one at school suspects he’s a vigilante who ambushes other vigilantes with his attempts at friendship and his questions about hero lifestyle problems.

“Look, I gotta go—“ Peter says.

“Hold up,” the Falcon says, making a motion like he wants to grab Peter by the upper arm. He appears to quickly rethink this when Peter dances away. 

The Falcon keeps his hands to himself. Peter holds up.

The Falcon sighs, folds his arms again, and seems to consider something. “Okay, just— you got time tomorrow morning, too?”

Peter nods. 

“Meet me here again, then. I’ll prepare some things you can try to help with your sleep.”

“Really?” Peter says, excited. “Thanks, man, that’s awesome!” 

The Falcon looks like he’s regretting his offer already.

But, it’s too late. “Seriously, thanks so much,” Peter calls as he jogs backwards towards the park’s entrance. “See you tomorrow!” He waves, turns, shoots a web, and swings away.

When Peter looks back, he sees the Falcon with his head in his hands.

——

The next morning, the Falcon guides Peter through a ten minute meditation while they perch on the frosted grass next to the East River. The Falcon has a nice, calming voice, but Peter’s squirming after a minute and a half, so then the Falcon gives up and decides to teach him some yoga instead.

They are both very disturbed to see how far Peter can bend. 

It’s pretty fun, though, so Peter decides to make it a standing meetup by showing up every morning and following the Falcon around until he pays attention to him. The Falcon protests this interruption to his jogging routine. Peter takes his protests under advisement.

After all, Peter isn’t just making the Falcon do yoga with him. Sometimes, Peter jogs with the Falcon, too. Peter provides a running commentary about every tree they pass which Spider-Man has rescued a kitten from. Peter has an unending amount of kitten stories, which makes him better than any podcast the Falcon could be listening to. He tells the Falcon this, and the Falcon rolls his eyes so hard that Peter genuinely worries about the health of his eye muscles.

Eventually, the Falcon starts talking back, probably as a self defense measure against Peter’s word vomit. He redirects the conversation back to relaxation techniques and his work at Veterans Affairs. Peter even squeezes a few stories about the Air Force out of him, in exchange for uncomfortable confessions about Peter’s sleep, nightmares, and anxiety. 

Is this therapy? Peter thinks as they jog. He asks himself this, and then he asks the Falcon. 

The Falcon tells Peter that he’ll need more therapy if he calls him Mr. Falcon one more time. 

So, Peter considers himself and Mr. Wilson buddies now. Mr. Wilson is a bit standoffish, but he’s super kind and considerate, as long as Peter doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it. Once, after Peter tells Mr. Wilson about the thirteenth pencil he snapped while stressing over homework, Mr. Wilson comes to their next morning meetup with a bag full of little black and white cat squishies. Peter does a lot of squealing. Mr. Wilson does a lot of eye rolling. It’s the best morning Peter’s had in a while. 

Peter can’t actually squish the cat squishies in a stress-reducing way because of his super strength thing, but he appreciates the thought. And the cuteness.

He distributes some of the squishies to Mr. Barnes and Black Widow and Ned and MJ and Aunt May and Mr. Stark. Peter feels like Mr. Stark could use some more cat squishies in his life. And a Mr. Wilson to teach him yoga. 

Too bad Mr. Wilson doesn’t really like Mr. Stark. Peter’s gonna work on that, though. Peter can be the friend bracelet that links them together.

It’ll work out.

Anyway, Mr. Wilson really has done a lot for Peter in the short time they’ve been jogging together, so Peter feels a compulsive need to return the favor. That’s why, when Mr. Wilson mentions that he’ll be late to morning jogs for a week because he needs to focus on investigating the up-tick in mob activity between Brooklyn and Manhattan, Peter says that he may have a contact who can help out with that, and has Mr. Falcon ever heard of the vigilante Daredevil?

“You know Daredevil?” Mr. Wilson says.

“Yeah,” Peter nods, “I do his dry-cleaning.”

A pause. “What?” 

“Well, not all vigilantes have access to a machine-washable Stark suit,” Peter says, “and a dry-cleaner in Queens owes me a favor ‘cause his chihuahua got snatched by a hawk once, but I got her back, and, I mean, if I can get the Devil to hang out with me by doing his super suit laundry every week, then, yeah, I’m gonna do it, so.” Peter shrugs. Being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is great for making a web of connections around town. Being suspected of being the literal devil is not. These are facts that Peter uses, since he is a master manipulator with flawless logic and incredible skill. That’s why he can be the Tracy Turnblad of his  _ Hairspray _ plan despite doing a minimal amount of dancing and having incurably squished mask hair.

Peter could probably use some hairspray, actually.

“Um,” Mr. Wilson shuts his eyes and rubs his temple like he also needs more sleep. Or maybe just some Advil. “I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He reopens his eyes and levels a serious gaze at Peter. Peter squares his shoulders. 

“Can you get me a meeting with Daredevil?” Mr. Wilson asks.

“Yeah, totally,” Peter says. “You can count on me.”

——

“No.”

“Please? Pretty please? Pretty please, with sugar on top?” 

Daredevil appears unmoved. Peter tries his best to channel the energy of Puss in Boots from  _ Shrek 2 _ . Mr. Stark made the white eyes on his mask super big and super responsive, so he imagines that he does a pretty good job, but Daredevil isn’t even looking in his direction. 

Time to try another tactic.

“I’ll bring you a batch of those princess cookies you like? And I won’t roll them in sugar this time, promise.” 

Daredevil seems tempted, but he still doesn’t say anything. 

Peter brings out the big guns. “I’ll throw in a dozen soft pumpkin cookies, too,” he cajoles. 

“...With the vanilla glaze or the cream cheese frosting?”

“Frosting.”

After a long minute of thought, Daredevil gives Peter a reluctant nod. Peter pumps his fist in triumph and then pretends very hard that he did not just do that, because Peter suspects that Daredevil still thinks Spider-Man is sort of cool, and Peter needs to maintain his image.

Nobody’s gonna come to Peter’s vigilante potluck if they all know the truth about him being really lame.


	5. and when you've practiced every step

After chaperoning two meetings between Mr. Wilson and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Peter gets a date with Captain America. A crime-fighting date. Where they’ll be trying to ambush a meeting between two different illegal organizations in an attempt to strangle a possible criminal alliance between boroughs.

This is it. This is the “Miss Teenage Hairspray” pageant of Peter’s life. Now he just needs to make sure that all the main characters show up, so Mr. Stark and Captain America can kiss and make up, and they’ll all dance off into the sunset. 

Peter just needs to figure out how to orchestrate this without causing massive mental and emotional damage to Mr. Stark. 

Peter will freely admit that he’s not very good at that.

It’s Friday night, and Peter is meeting Captain America for the second time ever on the rooftop of an abandoned building in Greenpoint. Mr. Wilson is checking out Hell’s Kitchen with Daredevil, and Black Widow and Mr. Bucky are casing everywhere below Kensington and Parkville, so Peter doesn’t even have any moral support for this encounter.

Peter suspects that Black Widow organized their searches like this on purpose. She knows Captain America gets him all jumpy.

When Peter swings onto the roof, Captain America is already there waiting, which would make Peter feel bad, but he’s arriving fifteen minutes before the agreed meeting time, so Peter isn’t being impolite. Peter is just being out-polite-ed.

He still feels a little bad. 

“Queens,” Captain America nods. He sounds exactly like he does in the PSAs. 

“Brooklyn,” Peter nods back.

They stand in awkward silence. It almost feels like a Western stand-off.

Peter breaks first. “Sorry about stealing your shield that one time,” Peter says. “I, uh, I didn’t mean it.” Peter winces. At the time, he did kinda mean it, actually.

Captain America smiles. It’s visibly bright, even under all the beard he has going on. He says, “I dropped part of an airport on you, so let’s just call it even.”

“Cool,” Peter says. And then they get down to business.

Captain America and his friends have been monitoring the activity of New York’s Yakuza and Irish mob splinter groups, remnants of organizations that Daredevil has dealt with in the past. There’s been more unrest lately because they’ve apparently been trying to reorganize. In fact, Daredevil has intel suggesting that two particular groups are going to contract an alliance tonight, which would greatly strengthen their reach and power. So, what Captain America wants to do is find the place where the alliance is being negotiated and ambush the criminals, preventing the consolidation of a larger organization. If everything goes according to plan, neither group will even know that vigilantes interfered— Hopefully, they’ll accuse each other of sabotage and never attempt a cooperative effort ever again.

“So, it’s best if you avoid combat. Daredevil’s doing the same. You two are rather distinctive,” Captain America says apologetically. 

Peter nods, but he knows that he’s definitely gonna fight if it looks like any one of his friends is in danger. That’s just how Spider-Man rolls, and no captain can tell him otherwise.

“Alright,” Captain America says, “then let’s head downriver first. There’re a lot of empty warehouses near the coast.”

Peter nods. They go in silence.

Peter may not be good at silences, but he can be quiet for vigilante purposes. That’s why he doesn’t engage Captain America in friendly chatter. It has nothing to do with how shiny and intimidating Captain America is. Peter’s definitely not internally screaming over creeping around the docks with a war hero who has his own comic book series. Nope.

But, Captain America does seem a lot more chill than Peter thought he’d be. Not that Peter was expecting a lecture on the benefits of a hot lunch or anything. However, Peter is surprised when Captain America starts making small talk as they’re sneaking across a shipping yard and into another warehouse compound.

“I heard you took Natasha ballroom dancing last week,” he says.

“Uh,” Peter blinks. “Uh, yeah. It was tango night at this dance place in Queens. Um, we didn’t go in or anything because it’d probably be bad if Spider-Man showed up to tango— in a nonviolent context, I mean. But the walls of that place are real thin, and the music is loud, so Miss Black Widow taught me how to tango on the roof— Also, ‘cause that way we didn’t have to pay the entry fee. Not that I don’t think the dance instructors should be paid— I mean— ”

“Whoa, son, it’s okay. I just wanted to thank you for inviting her. It’s been good seeing her get out of her apartment more these days. Seems like you’re showing her how to live a life here.”

“Nah, it’s definitely more for my benefit, Captain. I can’t get anyone else to dance with me.” Peter’s face feels hot under the mask. Weird. He doesn’t even have the heater turned on. “Miss Black Widow’s the only one fast enough to get outta the way of my two left feet.”

Captain America chuckles. Peter wonders if that’s what the Liberty Bell sounds like when it rings. It’s a good sound.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” the captain says. “I did fight you in Germany, if you recall. You’ve got some nice moves.”

Captain America has just complimented Peter’s moves. This is a formative moment in his young life. Peter’s definitely gonna text Ned about this later. He’ll totally freak.

“You’ve been helping Bucky a lot as well,” Captain America continues. “I have to thank you for that, too. Before you came along, he hadn’t adjusted to— well.” Captain America pauses. He suddenly looks a lot sadder than the Nazi-punching Captain America Peter knows from his comics. “It’s been a rough homecoming,” he finishes. He cups his hands, offering to boost Peter over the chain-link fence. Instead, Peter shoots him a look, takes a two-step running start, and clears the thing in one leap. Captain America laughs quietly and then does the same.

Captain America looks at Peter. In the moonlight, his eyes are really, really blue. “I know we were on opposite sides in Germany,” he says, “so I’m really grateful for you being willing to reach out like this. Thank you, Spider-Man.”

“Aw, Captain,” Peter says. Spider-Man doesn’t do what he does to be thanked, but it always feels good. And Captain America’s thanks almost wipe out the guilt Peter feels at having ulterior motives in befriending his friends. Almost.

Peter’s not proud of being a master manipulator. But, he’ll do what he has to do for the sake of everyone else’s emotional wellbeing. 

Suddenly, Peter perks up, turning towards one of the warehouses like a hunting dog who’s just caught the scent. Judging by Captain America’s tense posture, he’s also heard what Peter’s heard. 

Low voices. And heartbeats. Lots of them.

The warehouses in this compound are tall and ugly, with only a couple of little square windows near the top of the buildings. Captain America glances around before heading to an alley, evidently preparing to parkour his way up to the roof.

“Wait,” Peter says, kneeling down into a piggy-back pose. “Get on.”

Captain America gives him a look. The look says, “Um, what the fuck?”

“I’m really strong and sticky,” Peter says. “I know I don’t look it, but if you could just— trust me. I’ll get us up there.”

A pause.

Peter is prepared for the captain to protest a bit more, but instead he feels two arms gently wind around his shoulders.

Captain America carefully presses his thighs into Peter’s hipbones and asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yup,” Peter says. He stands up. It’s a bit awkward, because Captain America is basically popping a squat while dangling from Peter’s neck, and he’s a lot bigger than Peter is, but he’s also trying his best not to hinder the movement of Peter’s limbs, and his best is good enough for Peter to scale the warehouse without much trouble.

Peter wonders if this counts as a hug. He does not ask Captain America this, but he’s totally gonna tell Aunt May that it was a hug. She’ll be so jealous. 

Peter deposits Captain America onto the roof, and together they lean over the edge of the rooftop to peek into one of the windows.

“That’s a lot of ninjas,” Peter says nervously. “And a lot of guns.”

“Yep,” Captain America says, “I think we’d better call for backup.”

“Okay, yeah, cool, cool, cool, cool.”

“I’ll contact Black Widow. Can you reach Daredevil?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no, he’s not really a big fan of being reached. It’s always more of a ‘he’ll find you’ sort of thing? But I can call someone else.”

As Captain America looks at him quizzically, Peter touches his index finger to his ear and tells Karen that he wants to phone a friend.

The Phone A Friend option is something Mr. Stark programmed into the Spider-Man suit after Peter crashed his invisible unmanned jet into Coney Island. It’s a protocol that Peter can activate if he wants Mr. Stark to send help, but he isn’t immediately about to drown while being strangled to death by his own parachute or bleeding out of multiple gunshot wounds. In other words, Peter can use his Phone A Friend protocol to call Mr. Stark, even if he isn’t in immediate danger. This will help Peter stave off grievous bodily harm, thereby preventing Mr. Stark from prematurely greying or having to suffer death by Aunt May.

This is how Mr. Stark explained Phone A Friend to Peter, with an addendum about not getting Ned to turn this particular protocol off, please. Don’t give him that look. Mr. Stark will not be buying a child-sized casket for Peter.

Before using it the first several times, Peter had assumed that Phone A Friend would just call an unmanned Iron Man suit to Peter’s location, but after many embarrassing incidents with dubious danger levels, Peter had quickly found out that Mr. Stark was more often than not the friend Peter was phoning over. 

Consequently, Mr. Stark has a buttload of blackmail material on Peter that he uses at his leisure. But the joke’s on him because now Peter’s gonna use Mr. Stark’s own protocol against him and force him to hang out with all his friends again. 

It’s gonna be a grand ole crime-fighting time.

The problem is that the last time Peter used Phone A Friend, he was about to be fried. As such, he underestimates the urgency Mr. Stark now associates with the Phone A Friend option.

So, when Iron Man busts through one of the little glass windows on the opposite side of the warehouse, Peter and Captain America are still on the roof, waiting for Mr. Bucky and the others to show up. Which means Mr. Stark flies into a warehouse full of gun-toting mobsters and bloodthirsty ninjas on his own. 

Luckily, Peter would never let Mr. Stark fight alone. So, ignoring how Captain America grabs for his arm, Peter swings feet first through another window and kicks one of the ninjas lunging at Iron Man into the wall. 

They fight.

It’s not the first time Spider-Man and Iron Man have battled together. They’re both usually long-distance combatants, but when teamed up, they constantly rotate between who’s up close and personal and who’s taking people out from a distance. This is something they’ve argued about, because Mr. Stark is a heavily armored adult in a missile-laden suit, but Peter is a super-powered teenager with a thing about not getting more of his parental figures killed. So, they’ve learned to switch around. 

It works really well, actually. Their opponents always seem confused about where the next blow is coming from. Iron Man and Spider-Man are an efficient, ninja-disposing team. 

When Captain America jumps in, though, Iron Man clearly jolts in surprise. 

“What the f—“

“Mr. Stark!”

There’s no time to explain why you invited your superhero mentor’s ex-best friend to your mob takedown when there are ninjas with guns still flying about. 

Once everyone who wants to murder them is webbed up, unconscious, or webbed up and unconscious, Peter finally finds the time to take a minute and think about how he’s gonna salvage his plan. Thankfully, Mr. Stark is currently more interested in checking if Peter is hurt or bleeding.

Peter is not hurt or bleeding. It’s been a while since Iron Man and Captain America have fought together, but apparently one long, bloody international disagreement isn’t enough to erase the effects of years of training. Mr. Stark and Captain America did most of their fighting back to back with Peter in the middle, safe from all the bullets and blades. 

“Alright, arms out, full rotation— Don’t look at me like that; I saw you take a hit to the shoulder. No pain? Okay, good. Lemme see your feet. I told you to stop kicking through windows. You walk to school, you cannot be going around with glass in your feet.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m fine,” Peter says. “You’re embarrassing me in front of Captain America.”

“Yeah, about that,” Mr. Stark says. Peter can’t tell if he’s mad because the Iron Man helmet always looks kind of mad, but his tone doesn’t spell out good things for Peter’s future.

Captain America has just finished telling his team that they don’t need to rush over anymore. All enemy combatants have been dealt with, and he’s on site with Spider-Man and Iron Man. Captain America glances over at Mr. Stark, who is standing next to a pile of webbed up ninjas and fussing over Peter. He hesitates for a bit and then starts walking over.

“Hey, Tony—“

“Okay, no,” Mr. Stark says. Then he scoops Peter up like he’s Simba from  _ The Lion King _ and nyooms him to the roof. Peter doesn’t struggle; it’s not worth it when he’s in trouble. And he’s definitely in trouble now.

Mr. Stark drops Peter onto the concrete. Peter pulls off his mask, and Mr. Stark lifts the Iron Man faceplate. He looks really mad.

“What the hell, Parker,” he says. 

Peter takes a step back. “I— I phoned a friend?”

Mr. Stark exhales a rough breath that’s trying very hard to be a laugh. “I think you already had a friend here.” He steps closer to Peter. “An ex-fugitive friend, who shouldn’t be your friend at all. I thought I told you not to get involved with the embodiment of truth, justice, and the American way and his company. And now you’re— “ He pauses.

Peter swallows. His throat is dry.

“You’re still thinking about reuniting the Avengers, aren’t you,” Mr. Stark says quietly. Peter hesitates, then nods. There isn’t much point in hiding it.

Mr. Stark is silent. Peter doesn’t dare look at him right now, so he stares over the shoulder of the Iron Man suit and counts streetlights instead. 

Mr. Stark takes one deep breath, holds for three seconds, and then lets it out slowly.

He says, “I know you want all your childhood heroes to be friends and work together. It’s like with the Beatles— The band breaks up, the fans are broken up, I get that, I get it—“

“No, Mr. Stark, you—“

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Mr. Stark wags an armored index finger at him. “The adult is talking now.”

Peter crosses his arms, upset. And he doesn’t know what expression is on his face right now, but it makes Mr. Stark sigh, hesitate, and then clap a gauntlet onto Peter’s shoulder. 

“Peter, this isn’t like setting up your unnaturally attractive aunt with a suitor of your choice. The Avengers were a dysfunctional team of temperamental fu—screw ups. We didn’t get along, and we caused the world a lot of damage because of that, and so we made a mutual decision not to continue causing damage together,” Mr. Stark makes Peter look him in the eye. “So this  _ Friends _ reunion business you’ve got going on just isn’t going to work, got it? You can go talk to your friends, talk to my friends, even talk to me, but we are never, ever, ever getting back together.”

“I knew you were a secret Swiftie,” Peter mutters.

“It’s not my fault you label your science time playlists ambiguously,” Mr. Stark says, and the faceplate goes down, and the thrusters light up, and Iron Man flies away.

Peter watches him zoom off, a shooting star above the dark New York skyline. All the words he’d wanted to say settle like a boulder in his stomach. 

He didn’t even get a chance to use his speech.

The December breeze whips Peter’s hair around, so he tugs the mask back on, takes a deep breath, holds it for five seconds, and sighs heavily. Then he goes help Captain America restrain the remaining mob members in something other than degradable web fluid, so they’ll be safe for police pickup. Peter thinks Captain America is exuding big kicked-puppy energy in the face of Mr. Stark’s abrupt departure, but Peter’s thoughts have been wrong a lot lately, so he tries not to assume.

Maybe it’s time for more drastic measures.

——

“So, what d’you think?”

“...Peter. Do you want to give Tony Stark a heart attack? Do you want to kill Tony Stark, because that is how you kill Tony Stark.”

“It wouldn’t  _ kill _ him.”

“Dude, do you not remember what happened when you were in AP Euro and then the—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember. Don’t remind me.”

“—And then he—Oh, hey, MJ. Help me convince Peter not to kill his su—science father figure.”

“What hare-brained scheme are you losers talking about now.”

“Okay, so, I was thinking about faking my own kidnapping, but, like, making it seem very urgent and dire? So that Mr. Stark will have to work with Captain America if he wants to find me before I get fake-killed by the fake-kidnappers. And then my potential murder will, you know, open the gates of open communication, so they’ll eventually make up and get the team back together.”

“...”

“What?”

“...That’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard. Do not do that if you value your life.”

“Bold of you to assume that my life has value.”

“Peter.”

“Peter—“

“Fine, fine. Yeah, I know. I just—yeah. I know. I’m not gonna do it.”


	6. blood on the pavement

Peter swears that he wasn’t gonna do it. 

This isn’t part of his plan. This opportunity just fell at his feet. Or, in this case, ambushed him after school with a gun pressed to his back, drew him away from the crowd of students exiting Midtown Tech, and gave him a pistol whip to the skull.

It’s dark when Peter wakes up. That’s weird. Not the dark part; Peter wakes up frequently when it’s still dark out, though with Mr. Wilson’s help, he’s gotten a lot better at going back to sleep lately. No, the waking up part is weird because Peter doesn’t actually remember going to bed. Also, his bed usually feels much softer than this. And less cold.

Then Peter remembers. 

Shit.

“Oh no, did I wake the baby? Well, fuck, I would totally go over and rock you back to sleep right now, but I’m a bit tied up.”

Peter’s hearing voices. 

“Nope, wrong. Well, technically right, but not in that way. Turn a little to your left.”

Peter turns a little to his left. There’s a guy in a red suit hogtied and propped up against the wall. 

Daredevil?

“Bzzz, wrong again! Here’s a helpful guide to telling us apart: I’m more red leather, and he’s more red bondage.”

Oh. Then…?

“You haven’t heard of little old me? I’m offended! You should spend more time keeping up with the grapevine and less time playing Bambi to the Iron Doe. Maybe then you wouldn’t be here in this cute little concrete cell with me.”

Um, Peter’s sorry?

“Eh, don’t worry your curly little head about it. I’m Deadpool, bee-tee-dubs. “Dead” as in “deceased,” “pool” as in  _ piscine _ . Or pissing, whatever floats your boat. Nice to meet you!”

Deadpool wiggles his arm like he’s trying to hold out his hand so that Peter can shake it. Peter just keeps staring.

Okay, hi, Deadpool. Nice to meet you too. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?

“I think they thought I was Spider-Man. You know, red suit, red mask, freaky animated white eyes. We’re twinsies! Except my butt looks better in a skintight suit. No offense. Don’t worry, you’ll grow into it. Hey, just a tip: You should probably make an official Spider-Man Twitter. Get yourself some better brand recognition, so no one will mistake a full-grown mercenary for you anymore.”

Yeah, that seems like solid advice. Wait. Peter looks down at his chest and immediately regrets it when his brain violently protests this movement, but he still manages to determine that he is sporting a white article of clothing that has the nutritional label for a chemist printed on it. Not a red suit with a spider. 

Huh.

Uh oh. 

Um, Peter’s not Spider-Man. Peter tells Deadpool this, then repeats himself a few times to see if he can say it without slurring. He can’t.

Deadpool looks at him like he’s a kitten who’s trying to drink out of the faucet without getting his fur wet.

“Baby, you change in two-way alleys surrounded by busy traffic. You’ve flashed at least half of Queens at this point.”

Okay, wow. Peter’s just gonna file that comment away somewhere and deal with it later, when he’s not kidnapped and freezing to death in a small, dark room with a guy who copied his super suit.

“Hey, I didn’t copy anything! Did you trademark the color red? I don’t think so.”

Whatever. Peter so doesn’t need this right now. He doesn’t know who snatched him off the streets outside his school, but he isn’t gonna sit around and wait to see what they want from him.

He goes to stand.

It’s a mistake.

Every alarm his body can pull starts going off. His lungs contract. His stomach attempts to leap out of his throat. His mouth fills with saliva, and his eyes are dry and burning, and he can’t move his arms and legs. There’s lead running through his veins, and it’s making him sweat, even as he shivers with the cold.

The noise is making it worse. Who’s doing that? Why is someone banging a bunch of hammers on the concrete next to Peter’s head? It feels like the sound is drilling into his skull. Why are there so many people screaming outside? Why are they screaming? Stop screaming. It’s so loud. It’s so loud.

Deadpool needs to stop screaming at Peter. Stop screaming at Peter. Stop screaming at Peter. Stop screaming. Please.

It’s agony forever. Peter doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally comes back to himself. Before he can finally hear himself think again. 

His eyes are closed. He doesn’t know when he closed them. 

Peter opens his eyes. There’s an ant crawling away from him. Deadpool is looking. Deadpool makes an “okay” sign with his right hand and then traces out a question mark with his index finger as best he can while his wrists are bound to his sides.

Peter just blinks. He doesn’t know if he’s okay.

Peter lies there, letting the cold from the concrete soak into his bones for an indeterminable amount of time, while Deadpool squirms around in his ropes. Somewhere in his brain there’s a little voice screaming at Peter to move, move, move, and get out of here, but Peter can’t move. He feels cold and empty and weak.

Suddenly, a commotion. Loud voices and guns shooting. The dull thuds of bodies hitting hard surfaces. Quick footsteps getting louder and louder every second.

The door slams open, and the light that floods in forces Peter to squeeze his eyes shut again. It’s so bright. He’s gonna throw up. He’s gonna blow chunks.

He doesn’t get the chance to do anything because someone drags him up by the wrist, clamps a forearm around his throat, and digs the barrel of a pistol into the skin above his ear.

Peter wants to freeze or— or struggle or  _ something _ , but his proprioception is still playing hooky. He’s useless. All he can do is dangle and try not to choke. 

God. Peter feels really bad. And that was before the risk of getting his grey matter splattered on the wall got really, really high.

The gun barrel is hot. It’s burning his head.

Peter coughs, overwhelmed, and the arm around his windpipe tightens. That’s when Peter hears two sets of footsteps get closer.

“Stay back!” This new voice is coming from an inch behind Peter’s head. It’s too loud, and Peter tries to shift away. The mouth of the gun presses more insistently against his skull. It hurts.

“Back away from the door, or I’ll shoot your fucking kid!”

The footsteps stop. Mr. Stark’s voice, filtered and distorted through the Iron Man suit, says, “Put the gun down. Put the gun down, and step away from the kid, or I swear that you’ll come out of this with a four-limb amputation and a full-body skin graft waiting for you at whatever prison hospital kidnapping scum like you end up at.”

“Fuck you! If you weren’t such a— such a busybody, this kid wouldn’t even be here! This is your own fucking fault!”

Captain America, sounding kind of PSA-y but with an undertone of ice. “Look, you have two paths ahead of you right now. You can either shoot that gun and murder an innocent child and spend the rest of your life wasting away in prison, or you can put the gun down and I’ll make sure you get a fair trial. You’re young. I bet you haven’t gotten too wrapped up in this business. Put down the gun, and you’ll still be able to turn your life around.”

Peter can feel the gun against his head trembling.

“Look at him,” Captain America says softly. “Look at his face. He hasn’t done anything to you. He’s innocent. You don’t want his blood on your conscious, do you?”

Silence, except for the harsh gasp of fast breathing. To Peter, everyone’s racing heartbeats sound like an escalating drumroll, getting faster and faster and faster, his most of all.

Then, the arm around Peter’s neck goes even tighter, and he gags. 

The voice behind him, shaking, says, “It’s never mattered what I want.”

Peter doesn’t know if it’s like this for every masked hero, but the feeling he gets when a gun is pointed at Spider-Man and the feeling he gets when a gun is pointed at Peter Parker are two acutely different feelings.

Spider-Man is scared a lot, but he’s always ready to move and block a bullet. Spider-Man is a protector. If he dies, it is in service of a greater good, where that greater good is the survival of someone else. That awareness is enough to push his fear back while the bullets are flying towards his body.

But, right now, Peter is terrified. He doesn’t want anyone to have to see the surprise on his face when the bullet tears through him, the painful rattle of his breath as his blood drains out of him, the stiffness that’ll overtake his face and his eyes while he fades away. He doesn’t want the people he loves to see him die. 

He doesn’t want to die. 

It all happens so fast. The sound of shifting behind him. Something whooshing through the air. A scream next to his ear. The familiar blast of a repulsor shot.

Peter drops. He collapses sideways and knocks his head on the floor. 

He thinks he loses some time then, because by the time he’s registering sights and sounds and smells again, it’s quiet, and there’s no one in the room with him except for Iron Man and Captain America, staring down at him with wide eyes. His eyes are really blue.

“Tony, is this—“

“Not now, okay, just— not now.”

Mr. Stark kneels down, lifts his faceplate, and carefully moves Peter into a sitting position. Peter’s hand twitches up to take off his mask, too, but then he remembers that he isn’t wearing one. That’s not good. That means everyone, especially Mr. Stark, can see just how terrified he is. Though they‘d probably know even if Peter was wearing his mask, considering how his hands shake when Mr. Stark has him raise his arms, the way his chest shudders as Mr. Stark checks his torso for broken ribs and bleeding. 

While Captain America calls the Falcon for medevac, Mr. Stark leans Peter against his chest, so he can run his hands through Peter’s hair and check for head wounds. After he finds the lump from the pistol whip, he probes it gently, and when Peter flinches, he goes to rub Peter’s back instead. 

“It’s okay,” Mr. Stark says. Captain America hands him a shock blanket. Mr. Stark wraps it around Peter’s shoulders and then tells him, “You’re okay. You’re okay, Peter.” 

Peter can’t even muster the energy to rejoice about how Iron Man and Captain America are finally working together again. He clings to Mr. Stark’s pauldrons and presses his forehead into the space between the Iron Man helmet and chestplate. It’s cold and uncomfortable, but Peter doesn’t care.

He’s scared. He wants to be held.


	7. watch me fly

Peter puts his  _ Hairspray _ plan on hold. He’ll come back to it once the raw terror of having the barrel of a gun digging into his unmasked head wears off a bit more. 

Peter lost a lot of time, after Captain America and Iron Man rescued him. He remembers Mr. Stark extracting Peter from the suit so that he could take it off and hug Peter for real. He remembers hearing Mr. Wilson talking with Mr. Stark, remembers being placed into Happy’s car, a metal hand gently brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. Someone tucked the shock blanket around him as his head was maneuvered into another person’s lap.

Peter doesn’t remember the drive upstate, but he wakes up shouting in a bed at the compound. He turns over and vomits onto the floor. A large, warm hand rubs his back as he heaves, tears leaking out of his eyes. 

Peter says, “Sorry,” but Mr. Stark tells him that it’s not a problem. He helps Peter to the bathroom so he can brush his teeth, and then they relocate to the lounge, where Mr. Stark asks Friday to put on  _ Star Wars _ with the volume and lighting real low, and he wraps Peter in the happy snowmen blanket, and they snuggle up on the couch. Peter sleeps.

Mr. Stark wakes Peter up a couple times and checks his pupils, but Peter doesn’t really feel aware until  _ The Force Awakens _ is on, and he’s alone in a nest of pillows because Mr. Stark is burning an omelette in the kitchen. He can hear May in there, trying and failing to help. Their bickering is noisy, but it’s good noise. Peter smiles. 

And that’s how Peter spends the weekend after his first kidnapping. He watches  _ Star Wars _ , eats homemade food of dubious edibility, and is babied by Mr. Stark and Aunt May.

All in all, it’s pretty okay. Peter almost has a freakout over missing a day of school, but Ned texts him all the homework, and MJ tells him to stop being a gigantic nerd for one second, so he doesn’t lose more brain cells than he’s already lost. She still sends him her AP Euro notes, though. They’re covered with hilarious caricatures of all the inbred monarchs they’re studying.

However, much to Peter’s surprise, his kidnapping doesn’t magically make Mr. Stark and Captain America besties again. The gates of open communication are still firmly closed, and Mr. Stark insists that the team is not gonna be reassembled, no matter how many times Peter asks. 

It’s a little disappointing, but to be honest, Peter’s kinda glad Mr. Stark didn’t magically make up with Captain America after they teamed up to save him. He feels like that would set a bad precedent. He doesn’t want to get kidnapped every time the adult superheroes need to talk to each other. 

In the meantime, Peter’s picked up another project to distract himself. 

“Wait— Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was using you. I just— You’re just different to be around, that’s all. I don’t have to think about so much stuff when we hang out, you know?”

“That’s a weird thing for a hero to say to a mercenary.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re an ex-mercenary. It says so on your website.”

Peter may not have been very lucid during his rescue, but he knows that the guy he got kidnapped with played a part in keeping his brains intact. Neither Captain America nor Mr. Stark do a lot with throwing blades, after all. 

So, one of the first things Peter does after being released from the tender mercies of Mr. Stark and May is google Deadpool. It’s definitely not the hardest Internet-stalking mission Peter’s done. Deadpool has a pretty popular and pretty well-designed website. There are mini games. Custom cursors. It even has a fun facts page that lists his favorite chimichanga place in the city.

Peter swings by that chimichanga place every half hour during his patrol, until he glimpses a flash of red and trails it to the Bronx, where Peter gets a katana pressed to his throat in an alleyway for his trouble. Peter fends off the katana by shakily offering up a homemade pumpkin roll.

Now, Peter and Deadpool host a weekly potluck on the roof of the building whose wall Deadpool threatened to decapitate Peter on. No one else has shown up yet, but Peter’s working on getting Daredevil to come, too. 

“Don’t let the Iron Maiden hear you say that,” Deadpool says through a mouthful of gingerbread. He’s bitten the arms and legs off the gingerbread men first because he “wants them to know his pain.” Peter is judging him. “Being exploded to death isn’t my favorite way of going.”

“Mr. Stark’s not my real dad,” Peter says. “He can only tell me what to do thirty-three percent of the time.”

Deadpool tosses Peter a chicken taquito. Peter quickly tugs his mask up and catches it in his mouth. 

“Hook shot!” Deadpool cries. Peter chews and gives him a double thumbs up.

Hanging out with Deadpool is pretty fun. Deadpool spends fifty-five percent of the time talking to Peter like he’s a little baby and forty-five percent talking to him like he’s a peer, which is a higher percentage than any other vigilante Peter knows. Peter likes being treated as a peer. It’s a feeling that he could get used to.

So, yeah, Peter considers Deadpool a friend, despite all the blood in his past. He hasn’t had to work through a moral quandary about this relationship yet. Maybe it’s because Deadpool’s never killed anyone he loves. 

Hmm.

Well, Peter believes that people can change. And ex-mercenary is really only two steps away from hero in training, so what’s the harm in letting Deadpool run around with Spider-Man?

There’s enough room in New York for three red-clad vigilantes.

——

Peter really should’ve seen this coming. 

It starts with Mr. Wilson, during their regular morning jog and talk.

“Any headaches?” Mr. Wilson asks. Despite Peter’s reassurances that his super healing would take care of everything, Mr. Stark and Aunt May have been nagging him to watch out for any post-concussion symptoms. Mr. Wilson is on their wavelength, which makes Peter feel warm and cared about but also kind of annoyed. The desire to be babied wore off real fast.

“Nope, I’m all healed up,” he says.

“Well, still keep an eye on it, just in case. Concussions can be nasty.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Wilson.”

“And the nightmares?”

“Just the usual. I slept, like, four hours straight last night, though. It was awesome.”

“That’s good.” Mr. Wilson pauses and starts slowing down. Peter can feel that there’s something else he wants to say.

“Mr. Wilson?”

“It’s nothing, kid. Just—“ Mr. Wilson stops and turns to Peter, looking him straight in the eye. “Remember that there are lots of people around who’re willing and able to help you, no matter what kind of trouble you’re in. If someone is— threatening you with anything, tell an adult. You hear me?”

Peter stares blankly.

He says, “Uh…Yeah. ‘Course.”

Mr. Wilson nods solemnly, and they continue to jog. 

Okay. That was kinda weird, Peter thinks. But he quickly puts it out of his mind. After all, he has a timed in-class English essay to do today, and if he screws this one up, his grade might slip down to an A-. 

Peter shudders. The horror.

The next person to get weird is Black Widow, who’s lounging on the roof where Peter and Deadpool have their tête-à-tête midnight potlucks when Peter swings by.

“Miss Black Widow!” he says as he sticks the landing. “What’re you doing here?”

“It’s rumba night,” Black Widow says. “But I thought we could practice the tango again. You’ve almost got a handle of the Apache throw-out. You can’t get rusty now.”

“But I was gonna—“ Peter thinks he spies a flash of red over Black Widow’s shoulder, but he doesn’t get a chance to confirm before Black Widow is spinning him around and dipping him until his head almost brushes the ground.

Peter laughs and clutches at her shoulder with one hand. “You know I’m still recovering from a head injury,” he says.

Black Widow smiles and says, “I’ll be gentle.” And then she maneuvers him to their usual dancing rooftop by leading him in the most athletic, long-distance parkour-tango he’s ever seen.

So, Peter misses the potluck that week. He resolves to make it up to Deadpool by baking him some Deadpool-mask-themed sugar cookies. They’re the good kind, huge and sweet, with shiny red and black icing that’s crisp on the outside but soft on the inside. They also look really cute, in Peter’s not-so-humble opinion. 

Ten minutes before his May-approved patrol start time, he bundles the cookies into plastic wrap, and he’s practicing his costume quick change to see if he can put on the suit without stripping all the way down to his boxers or exposing his face for more than seven seconds when he hears Aunt May calling.

“Peter!” She says. “Someone from your, ah, internship is here to see you!”

Peter pokes his head out of his bedroom, making sure to hide the spider suit, which is still hanging around him like a full-body smock, behind the door, just in case the internship May’s referring to isn’t actually the internship he’s thinking of. However, he quickly realizes that he’s being overly cautious when he spots Mr. Bucky standing in the doorway and handing May a cheerful mixed bouquet that looks comically out of place with his emo grunge aesthetic.

“Mr. Bucky!” Peter says, tapping the spider on his chest to properly put on his suit before stepping out into the kitchen. “What’re you doing here?”

Mr. Bucky turns to Peter as May goes searching for a vase. “Got some left over ninjas causing trouble in Brooklyn, so I need to borrow Spider-Man for a night. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, no, not at all,” Peter says, ecstatic. This is the first time Mr. Bucky’s ever asked for Spider-Man’s help. Peter would literally die before refusing to go with him. “I’m ready right now.”

Peter rushes into his bedroom to grab his mask, but then he sees the roll of Deadpool cookies waiting on his desk. Crap. 

Well, Deadpool will probably understand. He thinks Mr. Bucky is really cool, too. Peter grabs a fluorescent yellow index card and scribbles a note on it with a blue sharpie. Then he scotch tapes the corners of the card to the plastic wrap.

Peter sticks his head back out into the kitchen and says, “Mr. Bucky, is it okay if we take a detour to the Bronx first? I have to drop something off.”

Mr. Bucky shrugs, which Peter has learned means “sure” in Mr. Bucky language. 

“Cool, thanks, man.” Peter grabs his cookies and pulls on his mask. “Meet you on the roof! Bye, May!”

“Bye, Peter, stay safe! You bring my boy back in one piece, James.”

“Will do.”

When Mr. Bucky makes his way onto the roof of Peter’s building, Peter’s already standing there with his hands on his hips.

“James?” he says, in a tone that is very much not accusing Mr. Bucky of anything.

Mr. Bucky doesn’t speak or make any facial expressions.

“And the flowers?” Peter raises an eyebrow that Mr. Bucky can’t see under the mask. But he bets that if Mr. Bucky could see it, he would be very intimidated. Peter’s very intimidating. 

Mr. Bucky shrugs, and this time Peter does not know what the shrug means. “Pretty woman like her saddled with a punk like you?” Mr. Bucky says. “If she doesn’t deserve flowers, no one does.”

“Hey! You— What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mr. Bucky almost smiles. 

——

Peter finally gets a clue when he walks into the movie night lounge at the Avengers Compound and sees Captain America sitting with Mr. Stark at the bar. Talking to each other.

Peter’s gonna explode with excitement. 

But, he doesn’t want to make them feel awkward by making a big deal out of this, so Peter waves in a casual fashion and walks over at a reasonable and casual pace.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Hi, Captain.”

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark salutes Peter with a whisky glass of apple cider. “How was school?”

“Normal, boring,” Peter says, quickly glancing back and forth between the two men. They don’t look that tense, so everything seems to be going okay. Peter mentally sighs in relief.

“How did your timed essay go?” Captain America says.

“Uh, I felt okay about it, but—“

“You mean you aced it. Geez, this kid,” Mr. Stark points his right thumb at Peter. “Always acting modest.”

“Not everyone can be that confident in their genius,” Captain America replies, and Mr. Stark lifts his hands and shrugs, as if to say “Nothing I can do about that.”

“Uh, not that this isn’t great,” Peter says, “but...what’re you guys doing here? Together, I mean.”

Mr. Stark and Captain America exchange a look. Peter jumps to a conclusion.

“Ohmigod, is Captain America joining us for Saturday Movie Night?”

“No, no,” Mr. Stark says, before glancing at Captain America’s kicked puppy face and amending with “— unless he wants to.”

Captain America beams. 

Mr. Stark elbows him, and he quickly resumes his serious face. They stand up together and cross their arms in unison. Peter takes two steps back and bumps into the back of the couch.

“...Is this an intervention?” he says.

Mr. Stark ignores the question. He goes, “Now, Pete, I know that the Avengers’ split has been hard on you. You may have felt the need to— I don’t know— fill a missing role for us, and I know that’s put a lot of pressure on you.”

Captain America nods solemnly.

“And any feelings of anger, confusion, frustration and sadness are all normal parts of the roller coaster of emotions that you may be experiencing due to our separation. But, if you need— something, you know that you can talk to us—“ Mr. Stark gestures back and forth between himself and Captain America “— instead of any, say, strange mercenaries who may be hanging around New York, right?”

“Oh my God.” Peter says. “Is this about Deadpool?”

Captain America clears his throat and assumes his PSA stance. “Now, son, we aren’t going to forbid your friendship with Deadpool. But, you should always remember that you don’t have to do everything your friends do. Listen to your conscience, and avoid danger. We’re trusting you to make the right choices about your life.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark uncrosses and recrosses his arms. “And the right choice is to stop hanging out with a murderer for hire.”

“…He’s an ex-murderer for hire.”

“Did— Did you just backtalk me? Steve, did this child just backtalk me? I knew that Deadpool was a bad influence; this just confirms it. Peter, you better— ”

“We don’t want you to think that we’re picking on your friend,” Captain America interrupts, shooting Mr. Stark a look. “But, we’d prefer it if you kept an open dialogue with us about your interactions. We just want you to be safe, Peter.”

“I am being safe. I am— “

“Wow, I didn’t know that befriending an immortal killer was what kids considered being safe these days— “

“Good, thank you, Peter,” Captain America says loudly. “We trust you,” he finishes.

Mr. Stark opens his mouth like he wants to disagree, but Captain America clears his throat again and then jerks his chin towards the hallway. 

Mr. Stark struts out, and Captain America follows. The compound was built with superpowered people in mind, so the walls are pretty soundproofed, but Peter can still sorta hear through them if he tries.

He tries.

“— why— you— him?”

“— parenting guide— don’t —“

“— dumb— Google— friends!”

Well. Peter can connect the dots. Everyone’s recent weird behavior is starting to make sense now. He guesses that the Avengers must really not approve of Peter hanging out with Deadpool if they reunited the team just to keep Peter away from him.

Which, okay, may be understandable. Deadpool has killed people in the past, and he’s a little crazy sometimes, and he always carries a ton of guns and swords. But Peter’s aware of that. He knows what he’s doing. Deadpool’s not being a bad influence on Peter. Peter’s being a good influence on Deadpool!

Peter throws himself face down onto the couch. This is so not how he imagined bringing Mr. Stark’s family back together again. He totally does not need the Avengers assembling to monitor who he makes friends with. 

Wait. Peter concentrates on his hearing again. 

Aunt May is involved? And…Daredevil? 

Oh my God. Why.

Peter smushes a pillow into his face, takes a deep breath, and lets out a closed-mouth scream. Then he takes two more deep breaths. Then he rolls over and pulls out his phone.

It’s okay. It’s all gonna work out. Peter has a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: a prequel sequel and a sequel sequel 
> 
> On the drawing board: a wedding and a war 
> 
> Keep an eye out for me tomorrow, and as always, thanks for reading. 

**Author's Note:**

> Visit [my tumblr](https://h-l-w.tumblr.com/) to recommend me musical soundtracks available on youtube so I have something to listen to while my soul wastes away as a spiritual foot soldier of institutional academia.


End file.
